


Deserving

by Amuly



Series: New Avengers #3 Fics [3]
Category: Marvel 616, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Crying, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Established Relationship, Face-Fucking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, avengers vol. 5, hickmanvengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:46:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the day, Steve expects Tony to join him in his bedroom. In order to keep from arousing Steve's suspicions--and as an elaborate, unspoken apology--Tony gives Steve a blowjob. </p><p>Set in Avengers #1, after New Avengers #3. Yes, based on the infamous Hickman "blowie" comment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deserving

**Author's Note:**

> Although this blowjob is given as part of an established relationship, Tony is giving it not because he wants to, but to keep Steve from finding out about the events of New Avengers #3 and out of an elaborate sense of obligation. Hence the dub-con. Basically, Tony really hates himself and there's a lot of very negative internal dialogue going on here.

  
  


“Aren't you...?”

Tony turned at Steve's uncompleted question. Steve was standing in front of his doorway, staring at Tony with an amused little smile quirking at his lips. When he caught Tony looking, he nodded his head over his shoulder. At his bedroom.

Tony winced inwardly. Right. Steve didn't—Steve _couldn't—_ know. From his point of view, everything today had gone wonderfully. Everything the last few _weeks_ had gone wonderfully. Life with Tony Stark had never been better.

Bile rose in Tony's throat. The darkened bedroom behind Steve was menacing. Like a black hole, or deep abyss. Or a dusty cave in Afghanistan.

Steve's smile was falling, and oh no, that just made Tony's guilt worse. He couldn't let Steve think that something was wrong: couldn't have him start worrying over Tony. Not because it would lead to suspicion—Strange's spell was surely too foolproof for that. No, it was because Tony didn't want Steve to _ever_ be upset, to _ever_ have anything to worry or fret over like the mother hen he was. Tony just... Tony just wanted Steve to be happy. For those little, private smiles to never leave his face and stress and worry to never crease his brow.

Mock-sighing, Tony turned to look longingly over his shoulder toward his labs, than back at Steve. “ _Well_...” He drew the word out slowly, hesitantly, like it was being pulled out of him. Steve just rolled his eyes and leaned against his doorjamb, big arms crossed over his chest. “I guess the rest of my work can wait just a _few_ minutes...”

With a snort Steve's arm darted out and grabbed at Tony's shirt, tugging him bodily into his chest. Tony went, smile plastered firm on his face, lips pulled tight, cheeks feeling like they already hurt with the force of fake smiles. Steve started to pull Tony in for a kiss and oh, oh: no.

Tony jerked away, hard, for just a moment not thinking about how it would look. All he could think about was how Steve's lips would feel against his, how he would taste, and Tony couldn't- He- It would feel so wrong. So much worse than what he was doing right now: to press sweet, loving kisses against Steve's lips, to invade his mouth with his wicked, lying tongue. Tony felt dirty, disgusting: muddy, lousy with filth and lies from the Illuminati. He couldn't taint Steve with it. He just couldn't. And pressing his lying tongue into Steve's mouth, rubbing that muscle that had spun those falsehoods against Steve's truthful, noble tongue... It felt wrong. Like a violation.

Before the question could form on Steve's lips Tony waggled his eyebrows up at Steve and shoved him into the dark of his room. Tony slammed the door shut behind him and didn't bother waving a hand at the light panel. He didn't need Steve to see his traitorous face.

His mind's eye went to the silver dollar he still had, courtesy Daredevil, hidden away.

“I've got a better use for my mouth,” Tony teased. Then he dropped to his knees, back to the closed bedroom door.

He could hear Steve's quiet intake of breath in the darkness, hear him swallow thickly. Tony's own body was responding to the position. He ignored it, feeling sick. He knew his mind had little control over his body in moments like this—years of a limp penis with a gorgeous woman or man thanks to alcohol had taught him first hand that the flesh could be weak. That knowledge didn't make the bile recede any further into his gut at this altogether opposite kind of weakness of his flesh.

“Tony...”

“Shh,” Tony breathed against Steve's groin. Hastily he tugged at Steve's khaki's, undoing the belt with a clatter and yanking at the zipper. Steve's hands were already in his hair, big palms practically dwarfing Tony's head, strength restrained but still there, beneath the surface. It felt like Steve could crush Tony's skull beneath his hands if he wanted to. The thought made Tony happy. Steve could hurt Tony, if he ever had reason to. Tony deserved to be hurt, if Steve ever found out.

The smell of soap and salt and faint musk hit Tony's nostrils as he freed Steve from his pants, khakis slid down to the floor and underwear to mid-thigh. Tony's hands weren't adept enough at the moment to try for anything more. Without a word Tony buried his face in Steve's groin: nuzzling his thick, coarse pubic hair with his nose, pressing secret little kisses to the seam of thigh and hip with his lips, cheek brushing and rubbing lovingly against his hardened shaft and balls. Tony indulged himself: one, two, three seconds. Then he was pulling back, working up enough saliva to spit in his hand before diving in.

“Mmm.” Above him, Steve groaned in satisfaction as Tony took him into his mouth. He moved his spit-wet hand to Steve's balls, rubbing and rolling them between his fingers expertly. This was for Steve, not himself, and so he wouldn't be dragging it out. Tony was doing this to make Steve happy, to give Steve pleasure. He deserved none of it for himself in return.

Half the time, Tony felt like this was all he was good for. Giving Steve pleasure. Making him happy. Eating his sins, drinking them down with the salty taste of Steve's cum. Steve's soul couldn't be tainted by the things Tony had to do. And it wasn't even a selfless action on Tony's part: besides the fact that his body was responding hungrily to Steve, aroused and hot and wanting more and more of the taste of him in his mouth, Tony needed Steve good and perfect for himself. He needed Steve's soul untainted so he could bask in the reflected glow, so he could borrow a little bit of the goodness for himself, for just a little while. So something around Tony could be good, could be pure, instead of sullied and muddy like everything else Tony did. Like the technology he created that was stolen and used for ill; like the ideas he proposed that were the utilitarian choice: right but not Right. Tony needed to sacrifice his soul to preserve Steve's for himself.

Tony worked his tongue over Steve's shaft, rubbing and licking and curling it around as he bobbed his head up and down. He worked Steve's balls with a focus bordering on vicious, determined to bring him to a satisfactory, perfect orgasm. At least Tony couldn't fuck up this.

Steve's breathing grew harsher the more Tony worked, fingers petting and curling and tugging at his hair before petting again, soothing any soreness they might have caused in a moment of surging, hot pleasure. His muscles—so strong, so solid—flexed and hesitated beneath Tony's lips and hands. Tony pulled off for a second, jerking Steve's erection with his other hand as he took a quick breath. Then he sunk down, burying his nose in Steve's pubic hair as he took the full length of him down his throat. He pulled back, breathed through his nose, and did it again. Then a third time. Steve shuddered and moaned above Tony, fingers twitching with the need to pull and grasp but stopping short.

Frustrated, Tony reached both hands behind Steve, grabbing at his ass. For half a second he savored the feeling of hard, flexing muscles beneath his palms. Then he squeezed, tugged hard, trying to encourage Steve without words to fuck his face. Steve got the message, Tony could tell by the way his hips thrust forward for just a moment and then pulled back just as quickly, hesitating. Because Steve was polite. Because Steve was a good man, because he was everything Tony wasn't. Tony tugged harder on Steve's ass. When he still hesitated, Tony moaned, rough and loud and broken, around Steve's dick. His mouth watered and he let himself grow a little sloppy, drooling all over Steve like he couldn't control himself.

Not that he really could, when Steve was involved. Only barely.

With a groan Steve's hips thrust forward once. Then twice. Tony moaned again, tugging hard on Steve's ass. Yes. Perfect. He was here for Steve to use, for Steve's pleasure and happiness. Nothing more.

A sharp _thunk_ filled the room as the force of Steve's hips smacked the back of Tony's head into the door.

“Tony-”

Steve's thrust faltered and Tony panicked. No. He couldn't have Steve worrying over him, showing concern for him. Tony moaned harder, digging his fingernails into Steve's ass and pulling him in.

“No, Ton-”

Tony pulled Steve in and buried his nose in Steve's pubic hair for three, four, five seconds. He swallowed around the hard length. Steve shuddered and curled inward, body bending itself over Tony's head. His fingernails clenched tight in Tony's hair, digging into the thin skin covering his skull. Tears pricked at Tony's eyes, but he ignored them. _Please_ , Tony thought. _Please. Take this_.

He pulled back for a second, just to breathe, then slipped Steve back down his throat and tugged at his hips some more. Tony could almost hear Steve gritting his teeth, the moans and grunts escaping from his mouth against his attempts to keep relatively quiet. Good. Good.

Tony's throat burned, his eyes watered. He wanted to gag—the sensation was there, the urge was there, like an itch he needed to scratch. But he suppressed it, buried it deep down along with his own arousal, down in that deep place he kept his unspoken, un-admitted-to love for this man. A tear tracked down his cheek, to his stretched-tight lips. He couldn't taste it: not with the taste of Steve's precome flooding his mouth in ever-increasing bursts. He hoped Steve couldn't see it. Probably couldn't, in the dark. Tony risked a glance up. Steve's eyes were squeezed shut.

Steve's length was hurting Tony's throat, rubbing it raw. His neck was cricking up, muscles pulled too taut and tense. His lips were starting to strain, feel like they wanted to rip with how tightly they were stretched around Steve's thick cock. A moan escaped Tony's throat—a genuine one, one he hadn't been able to smother and wasn't letting out for Steve's benefit. Tony's gut roiled at his body's weakness. He tugged harder at Steve's ass, increasing the rhythm as quickly as he could.

_Come on. Fuck my face. Use it, Steve. Use me up, fuck my throat raw._

The thrusts grew more rapid, Steve's hips starting to set a punishing pace. Tony took it: moaning loudly, opening his throat, gripping Steve's ass and forcing him deeper. Steve grunted and groaned, almost with every thrust, as he fucked Tony's face. Tony's erection was leaking in his pants, but he ignored it. This was for Steve. All for Steve. His own disgusting want didn't factor into what they were doing in the slightest. He just needed to make Steve feel good. He needed to do everything he could for Steve. Tony gagged, pulled back for a second. But as Steve was about to apologize, to pull away and caress Tony's cheek with loving reference, Tony just took a breath and took him back down to the root. Steve's blunt fingernails dug into his scalp.

Tony's head banged against the door with every thrust. He tried to keep it pressed tight against the thick wood, but it still knocked with every rough glide of Steve's cock down his throat. His knees were aching even on the plush carpet of Steve's bedroom. Tony focused on that: the pain, the discomfort. Maybe if he kept his mind on that his body would stop wanting for Steve. Maybe his asshole would stop clenching with the need for Steve to be inside of him, his cock would stop leaking in the absence of Steve's hand, his nipples would soften without Steve's fingerpads dragging roughly over them. Maybe Tony's body would forget that it was made for Steve to be on it, using it, playing it.

Steve's thrusts were growing more erratic, more forceful. The back of Tony's head hurt from being knocked into the door behind him, his throat burned with the pounding of Steve's dick. Tony hung onto his ass like it was a lifeline. Happiness swelled up inside him: a sick, regrettable, undeserved happiness. Steve was using him. For the first time since he closed the door to Steve's room behind them Tony let his eyes slip shut. Steve was using him. Steve was fucking his face like it was any warm, wet hole made exclusively for his pleasure. Tony was giving him that pleasure. That's what Tony was good for, and that's what Tony was being: a fuck hole for Steve's thick, long cock.

Dots swam behind Tony's eyelids as his body begged for air. He ignored it, just like he was ignoring his aching, swollen cock and his gag reflex. Tony's body was slowly growing more lax, his mouth split as wide as it would go, his throat completely open for Steve's pounding penis. His knees creaked, feeling like they wanted to break, to collapse beneath them and take him away from his task. His arms were heavy, barely able to stay in their encouraging place on Steve's ass. Drool spilt down from Tony's mouth to settle in Steve's pubic hair, to drip over his balls, down his thighs. Tony moaned weakly, uncontrollably, body useless for anything that wasn't something for Steve to fuck.

With two, three last, hard thrusts Steve poured himself down Tony's throat. Tony didn't even have to swallow, just let the bitter liquid drop to settle in his stomach. Tony pulled away and tried to cough delicately into his hand. He gagged a little, but suppressed the worst of the reaction his body wanted to have.

“Tony.” Steve's voice was next to his ear. Tony started, shocked to find Steve crouching down next to him. He was frozen, still on his knees, as Steve's hand fumbled with his zipper. No. That wasn't... Tony tried to bat Steve away, to mutter some excuse and leave. But Steve was a good man. Of course Steve was going to get Tony off. And Tony couldn't do anything about it that wouldn't be suspicious. He couldn't bolt, couldn't run away. So he let his hands drop and swallowed a sob. Damn it, Steve. Damn your goodness.

Steve's big fingers were gentle, his palm smooth as he worked Tony's pants open and slipped a hand beneath Tony's boxer-briefs. With one hand he tugged them down, the other he spit into before wrapping it around the shaft and working it quickly. Tony could only clutch onto Steve's forearm and close his eyes, head leaning back against the door. He needed it over with, now. He couldn't take Steve's goodness for more than a couple seconds.

Luckily, Tony's body was a traitorous, terrible, selfish beast. He was already on the edge of coming from the face-fucking Steve had given him. Precome leaked steadily over Steve's hand as he jerked Tony quickly, efficiently. Tony's balls were tight, his groin hot with sensation. It only took a few firm tugs to send Tony falling over the edge, hips thrusting up into the circle Steve had made with his fingers.

Tony just barely managed to choke back tears.

He hated himself so much. He didn't deserve this.

Steve laughed, voice husky as he rubbed his cheek against Tony's before planting a soft kiss there. Tony wanted to escape.

“Alright, what'd you do?”

Tony didn't let himself freeze. He wanted to. But he didn't. Steve was joking. It was very, very clear from Steve's tone of voice that he was joking. That didn't mean Tony's blood wasn't running cold through his veins.

“Go to bed, Cap,” Tony finally settled on.

Steve just laughed, that warm, rough noise, and kissed Tony again. Tony kissed back, if only to keep from arousing Steve's suspicions.

“Not going to stay?” Steve's nose rubbed against a spot below Tony's ear. His lips and teeth followed, teasing.

Tony swallowed bile.

“Work to do.”

“So important,” Steve teased.

Tony couldn't stay in this room any longer. Not with Steve wrapped around him, cuddling against him in post-coital gratitude. His skin was furnace-hot, pressed against Tony like the embers of hell, judging and judging and judging him. Tony had to get away.

“See you in the morning,” he muttered. He pressed a kiss to Steve's cheek. Just for show. Just for Steve. Not for himself.

“See you, Shellhead.” Steve ever-so-gently knocked his forehead against Tony's temple. Tony shriveled away from the touch.

Almost without setting himself to rights Tony stood and hurried out of the door. He caught a glimpse of Steve, still easily crouching on the floor, pants rumbled around his ankles and body loose, happy. Tony shut the door and started down to his lab, away from Steve.

Tears tracked down his cheeks as his footsteps echoed through the halls of Stark Tower. Bile rising in his throat, he detoured into the first bathroom he passed. Tony heaved up his stomach contents into the pristine white bowl: bile and coffee and cum. Tony's body shook, his eyes watered, his throat burned. One sob escaped his lips, then another. His fist shot out and cracked against the bathroom wall, knuckles leaving bloody smears behind them.

He had to do this. He had to do this, to keep quiet, to look into his options, to save the world by _any_ means necessary. He would sell his soul to save the universe. He'd sell his soul a _hundred_ times to spare Steve's. _That_ was why he was doing this. _That_ was why Steve could never know. Steve couldn't make the call, because he couldn't sacrifice his morals. So Tony would sacrifice his own, to spare Steve's. Again. He'd always do this, always make this call, to protect Steve. Because Steve was a good man, and Tony Stark selfishly needed such a good man in his life.

Tony flushed the toilet. Rinsed his mouth out with water from the sink. Splashed water against his face, wiped himself off with a towel. Looked in the mirror.

Stormy blue eyes stared back at him above swollen red lips. He was doing this for Steve. He would do anything for Steve to never know the choices he had to make. Tony would keep up the pretense, and work with the Avengers while the Illuminati continued their machinations behind the scenes. But whatever he had to do for Steve, to keep Steve from knowing: he was doing to for _Steve_. Not for himself. Never for himself.

“It's all for Steve,” Tony whispered to his reflection.

“You don't deserve him,” it whispered back.

Tony hung his head and stared, unseeing, down at the sink. He knew.


End file.
